"From triumph to failure is but one step."
+ the usual
I love when I can include paper sketches in the process gif. It's very satisfying to see it progress from a very vague imagining of what was in my head to the finished project.
+ version without text
My favorite sketch was definitely the one where I actually put in words what it's supposed to convey. I wouldn't usually write that down, cause it's all in my head, but it was useful to do so when sending it to other people. I'll go into it more but here it is just as a teaser:
Lmao first of all, I like how I was teasing "Spanish GP" art, but as per usual, it's just thinly veiled au art. IM SORRY, I'M NOT INTERESTED IN MAKING GENERAL POSTERS, THAT'S NO FUN! So instead you will get weirdly relevant matador au art. I like it a lot though, I was really shocked I was able to draw 3 different Fernandos, I mean even drawing one figure takes a lot out of me, but this was weirdly easy?? I think it's just the effect of not being burnt out anymore, and actually being able to draw with more ease makes me feel like a god.
Okay, so the text: "Fight or Flight?" I'll be honest, I don't even remember why I chose it, literally came to me in a vision 😭 But I think it's fitting with the narrative of this piece. Is it better to keep going on, keep fighting, or better to finally give up, and flee? Not that I even remotely think he should give up, but I feel like sometimes I can sense him pondering this very question. That was the big fear before he announced that he re-signed. Keep fighting and maybe, just maybe, you'll get the chance to finally go up against the bull again. Or accept it's an uphill battle and the fighting is going to keep getting more and more strenous, and maybe it's time to put down the sword. SORRY THIS IS SO ANGSTY FOR WHAT'S SUPPOSED TO BE "yayyyy home race!!!" Please forgive me <3
I. Renault
At some point, someone pointed out to me that I had drawn all other iterations of matador Fernando with a sword, except for Renault Fernando, and that ended up feeling very poignant to me. In a bull fighting match, they really only pull out the sword at the last minute to deliver the killing blow. So I think it's important to never draw this Fernando with a sword, because it shows the unfailing confidence and stability he has at that point. He only needs to pull out the sword at the end, as a formality almost, there's no reason for him to keep his guard up at all times.
II. Ferrari
Meanwhile this Fernando, he's considering his sword like he hasn't had to in the past. He's checking the sharpness, making sure in advance he can do what needs to be done. He's on guard, he feels like he needs to keep up his defenses at all times because he doesn't have that same amount of trust and stability anymore. He knows though he will be up against the (red) bull, at least that's never in question. At least there's the assurance he'll get the chance to fight.
III. Aston
Oh, Aston Fernando....He doesn't know whether to take up his sword or finally put it down for the last time. While at least Ferrari Fernando knows he's on constant guard against the bull, this Fernando doesn't even have that assurance anymore. He feels like he can never put down the sword, just in case he gets the chance to strike the killing blow on the bull, which feels like it's growing more and more unlikely.
Spanish flag: ? Lmao this was meant to be something to celebrate Fernando's home race and it turned very introspective whoops. Also got the Napoleon quote in there hahaha, can't escape it!! Shame though there is no French gp anymore, if so I'd probably draw an unhinged thing for it :,(
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During the winter I think "yeah, I'd move to the Neath, I don't like sunlight anyway I don't really see what the big deal is" and then May hits and I suddenly understand why all our characterguys are half mad and chugging laudanum by the bottle. like yeah I guess if I went year round without this I too would be running through the streets shouting about the sun
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I can’t imagine any kind of future. I can’t imagine having any kind of job ever. I can’t imagine ever going back to uni. I thought I was enjoying uni when I started but then I just suddenly stopped caring completely and literally everything I did became a horrible chore. Every time I’ve at least tried to do volunteering it’s got too complicated and fallen through or I’ve found it too socially exhausting. I have no independence and I should want to be independent but I also can’t fathom it and feel completely unmotivated to try and get any kind of independence back. I just feel pathetic and wonder what the point in me is.
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Durian stared into the abyss just to the side of the catwalk, and spits down.
It's gone before she can even blink, and there's no sound that follows. The only sounds are over by Asa, in fact, as she ratchets a bolt tighter. The staccato clicks slow to a metered pace before finally only a now-and-again sort of sound. Silence, sigh, metal landing on metal.
The last echoes and rebounds for a while in the hollow building, as Durian looks back to her friend and wonders what the point is. She knows what Asa said the point was, getting the mostly-intact armor block up into Beatrice would prove that it could be done, and that's another project towards repairing the mech.
But why repair the mech? What was the point of a big metal lady they couldn't even refuel. Durian turned her gaze across the far wall, scanning from right to left. In a few places near the furthest reaches of the hangar, there were stacks of big metal containers. Each large enough you could maybe live in one, and each clearly marked with Asa's usual white X; the sign that she should never go in there.
She knew why, though. She'd figured it out herself of course. Beatrice was built to kill bad people, and she had guns. Guns need bullets. Even if Durian couldn't see the faded paint on one side of the metal box labeling it "munitions" she had all the other pieces of the puzzle.
Asa told her not to touch anything, half-breaking Durian from her thoughts, and then scampered off to find who-knows-what. Durian wandered over, and peered into the open hatch on Beatrice. The robot was idling, perhaps in a sort of mechanical sleep mode, but her main console was still powered on. So Durian logged herself in.
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hello fellow depresseds. instead of wasting all your loathings on putting yourselves down I offer an alternative: hate me instead
i have no redeeming qualities and a seemingly bottomless capacity for self-hate, plenty of room left in here for yours. send it my way and be free
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